There is no place on earth like El Tunco, the little slice of El Salvador that I have called home for the past three months. It is sunsets that blaze against the ocean and make a kaleidoscope out of the sand; plants that spill over walls, climb telephone poles, and make even the newest buildings look weathered; stares burning into light skin; pupusas sold from every restaurant; lightning bugs and geckos; Saturday morning services that bother the neighbors; hardworking, determined mothers; little boys who are glued to their skateboards from the time that they can walk; water trucks; Coke advertisements; gorgeous, makeup-free faces and dark hair; skillful murals; and air so thick that it feels as if one must drink it rather than breathe it in. At least, that’s what it was for me.
Starting the summer program and being able to watch the children learn and change over the last three weeks made it so much harder to leave. Although they are a handful when they’re all together, they have so much potential. Seeing the little five- and six-year-olds go from saying, “No puedo” (“I can’t”) to actually trying things on their own was so rewarding. Some of the most ill-behaved ones even had a change in attitude toward us and toward learning. Plus, they’re all so adorable.
The hardest part of it all is knowing that, even if I come back someday, it will never be the same. The kids will have aged, some of the girls that I met at the orphanage will be gone, and I probably would not be with the eleven other girls with whom I’m staying right now. I have only caught a small glimpse into a bigger story, one that is constantly changing as it’s written. And, even though I am grateful for the time I had, I wish that I didn’t have to say goodbye so soon.
The next time I look up at a night sky, there will be constellations that I’ve never seen before. If I felt far away from home in El Salvador’s increasingly Americanized culture, I can’t imagine what Malawi will be like. Going into this next step of my adventure, I know that things will not be easy; the cultural differences that I cannot yet fathom and the decreased access to the people back home will undoubtedly be a challenge. But I know that, regardless of what lies ahead, it will be good.
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Playa El Tunco at sunset
Roxi, one of my favorite four-year-olds (even if she does have an ornery side)
Kaitlyn and some of the girls at the orphanage
Chuck, one of the dogs that often wanders through our gate (she’s actually a girl, which I guess we should’ve checked before we named her)
Playa El Tunco on one of my sunrise runs
